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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24818920">Legacy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asraella/pseuds/Asraella'>Asraella</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tales of A Lowercase L [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Death Note (Anime &amp; Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Childhood, Childhood Memories, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Lowercase L, Small L</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:00:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24818920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asraella/pseuds/Asraella</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>L remembers spending time with his father in the house he grew up in.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tales of A Lowercase L [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581517</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Legacy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this for Father's Day 2020. 😊</p><p>Also, Cavendish is a type of pipe tobacco.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This was L’s favorite room in the old Victorian house, the room with the walls made out of books and the floor that looked like the side of an old, dismantled pirate ship stained to match the mahogany desk the man with the brown corduroy jacket usually sat behind.  </p><p>He sat in the middle of the large, drafty study, his little legs criss-crossed with bare feet laying pad-side up against his much-too-long jeans, a book propped carefully in his lap. Between a gentle forefinger and thumb, he pinched the corners of the musty pages, turning them the way he had been taught to do.</p><p>“We must always respect the tomes, L.” The man behind the desk kindly reminded him. “One doesn’t want to tarnish the writing, or it will be lost and we wouldn’t want that.”</p><p>He could remember it vividly…</p><p>Shelves lined with books, all of uneven bindings and varying colors. He could see the man sitting behind his desk, the outline of jagged hair and slouched posture cut into the sunlight streaming through the window behind him, but he couldn’t see his face…</p><p>He never could remember his face.</p><p>“Come here, my boy,” The man called over to him, rolling his chair back and turning towards him, holding out his arms to him. L ran over to him and climbed into his lap, the scent of oaky musk of ancient pages and strawberry Cavendish escaped the fabric of the man’s jacket.  </p><p>“This is very, very old.” The man wrapped his arm around the child’s middle, securing him in the safety of his hold. “Remember, we don’t touch, but it’s alright to look.”</p><p>L nodded, “Yes, father, I remember.”</p><p>Together, they took in the musty musings of someone long since gone from this world, someone that was undoubtedly important to history. All that was left behind were these words scrawled on the pages and distorted memories laced through their writings. </p><p>L pressed his fingertip to his bottom lip and listened closely to the stories he was being told. Unlike the fables and nursery rhymes his mother read to him, these tales were a mix of truths and fabrications mankind wrote so those that came after would have the benefit of their knowledge, their art, and their legacy. Immortality belonged to those that chose to worship the written word, for their names were spoken with reverence hundreds of years later.</p><p>After thoroughly examining the antique document, he slid from his father’s lap, the crystal bowl of Pear-Drops tucked among the desk’s clutter catching his eye.</p><p>“You’re a good boy, L,” He said as he ruffled his hand through his child’s wild locks, his affection leaving no effect on his appearance. “Preserving what used to be helps humanity learn from the past, to make today better. Perhaps one day you will change the world for the better.”</p><p>“I’ll do my best,” L beamed up at him, parted lips showing off gaps where his new front teeth would soon come, now gazing at the forbidden treat.</p><p>“Go on now, take one,” he chuckled at his son and his sweet tooth.</p><p>His wide blue eyes, a trait he undoubtedly inherited from him, shimmered, smile stretched across his chubby cheeks as he plunged his tiny hand into the candy. “Thank you, Father.”</p><p>Of all the treasures he was responsible for, L was his most loved and precious.</p><p>“Oh, alright, take two.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank You for Reading!<br/>I'm on <a href="https://my-one-true-l.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>, too.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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